


A Matter of Time

by winnowd



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, M/M, and I don't know if it counts as a happy ending but it's optimistic at minimum, the angst is real but it's not all angst I promise, there's love and light and joy too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 08:58:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18279926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winnowd/pseuds/winnowd
Summary: Sirius may have spent 12 years in Azkaban, but Remus was in his own personal hell during that time. This is Remus's side of the story, from the end of the First War to just after PoA





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to my amazing beta readers, [Apfelessig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apfelessig) and Ciera (who doesn't have an AO3 account... yet). Thank you for all the texts and emails, all the advice and encouragement. And thank you for not killing me instantly when I said things like, "Actually I'm going to ignore your advice here because I prefer my way" or "Well, I decided to houserule the grammar on that one..."
> 
> This fic would not be the same without you.

It's taken him a few hours, but Remus has finally worked up the motivation to make himself a cup of tea. His hand trembles as he lifts it to his lips. It doesn't make it all the way before all the energy goes out of his arm, and he lets his hand drop at his side. He hears the cup shatter on the floor a million miles away. It's been a bad day. But then, most days are bad days.

  


*

  


He hasn't left the house for a while. Not since the moon was full and the damnable curse pulled him out of himself for a few hours. It should have been a relief, perhaps. Certainly the rabbits were some much-needed nourishment. But the return was a bleak reminder of how absolute his loneliness is, and the whole horrid business had come crashing down around him all over again. All of his friends, dead by the end of a single night. All except Sirius, the one who murdered them. It's been nearly two weeks now since it happened, and Remus is still numb with the shock of it. His brain goes to static whenever he attempts to process any of it.

He presses his hands into the kitchen table and his head hangs, a heavy weight on his neck. His mind is a swirl of wordless feelings and memories and twitches of ideas, none of which he allows to become fully formed. It is this indefinable, unhappy maelstrom that he is jolted out of when his front door bangs open and Minerva McGonagall strides into his home.

Even if his depression had allowed him to summon words to greet her, or to ask why she was no longer observing the rules of polite society, his shock ensures his silence. Never mind the suddenness of her appearance—at this point the mere sight of another human being feels almost alien to him. He is further rendered speechless when she, the strict, stern Head of Gryffindor House, pulls him into a tight hug.

They stand like that for an awkward moment. Remus licks his lips and swallows and prepares himself for speech. He hasn't spoken to another person for a fortnight, or indeed spoken at all, beyond a single, private rage the night Sirius was taken to Azkaban.

Fortunately, it's McGonagall who speaks first. 'Oh Remus,' she says, breaking away from him and regaining her composure. She takes a seat at his kitchen table with a motion that invites him to do the same. 'Such terrible news.'

He sits down. 'Yes,' he manages. It comes out as a rasp. He clears his throat and tries again. The word sounds better, but it's still only a single word. 'Yes.'

'And of course, the turmoil after it happened—no one quite sure what was truth and what was rumour. I had to confirm it myself with Dumbledore. He Who Must Not Be Named, defeated at last, but at such a cost...' As she speaks, McGonagall produces a slab of Honeydukes chocolate from her robes and begins to break it into pieces with surprising strength. She pushes the pieces toward Remus, who tries to refuse them, but she gives him such a look that he could very well be fifteen and rebellious again. He meekly accepts the chocolate.

'I would never have believed such a thing of Black –' she continues, but hitches upon seeing his face darken. Never long to be lost for words, even at times such as these, she takes a different tack. 'How are you, Remus?'

He puts a large piece of chocolate in his mouth to delay his answer. As he chews, he begins to feel alive again, just a little. He's dismayed by the feeling; it was easier being numb.

'I am... glad that Voldemort has fallen.' It's not a lie, though 'glad' is a foreign emotion at the moment.

McGonagall purses her lips. 'I told Dumbledore that someone ought to look in on you. Heaven knows war isn't an easy time for anyone, but here we are at the end of it, and suddenly everyone is acting as if it never happened. We've lost so many good witches and wizards. But some of us have lost more than others.' Remus isn't looking at her, but he can feel her studying him. 'When you didn't reply to any of my owls, I felt I had to take matters into my own hands.'

He has a vague memory of an insistent tapping at the window. It could have been yesterday. It could have been years ago. He hadn't answered it, and whatever it was had given up, eventually.

'Dumbledore came to see me, just after –' He can't form the words, but McGonagall gets the gist.

'And he was warmth and comfort personified, I imagine,' McGonagall says dryly.

Despite himself, Remus chuckles. The sound barely catches in his throat. 'No, he was all business. Didn't seem to believe that Voldemort was gone forever. Had the air of a man braced for aftershocks. Wanted to know what I knew about Si–' _This_ catches. The name. He twists his fingers together, so tight that it hurts, and then before he can stop himself, words come bursting out of him. 'There couldn't have been a mistake, could there? You said it yourself, you'd never have believed it of – of him. He didn't have a trial! Maybe the witnesses were wrong. Maybe he was Imperiused. He was their _best friend_ , Professor. He was – he was my –'

It's all too much. Remus collapses backwards in his chair and presses his hands over his face and just _sobs_. McGonagall makes no attempt to stop him, and lets him carry on for quite some time, until there are no tears left to cry. He hiccoughs as he pulls himself together again, and sees his old teacher politely ignoring him over a cup of tea. There's one for him as well, and as he takes it he returns the favour, tactfully ignoring McGonagall's red and puffy eyes.

They sit in silence for a while, drinking their tea, listening to the rhythm of the clock on the wall and the bustle of life out on the street. Remus glances down at the floor and remembers his earlier attempt at tea only by the absence of its remains. McGonagall must have cleared it away while he was absorbed in his misery.

Once the tea is drained from their cups, McGonagall takes her leave. She sternly makes him promise to look after himself, to keep in touch, empty promises he has no intention of honouring. At the door, she moves as if to give him another hug, but hesitates just for a second, and the moment passes. She settles for a searching look and a nod. And then she's gone, and Remus is alone again.

  


*

  


_It is their final day at Hogwarts. Exams are done at last, and the weather is as glorious as the Marauders feel. The four of them stroll down the lawns away from the castle, and throw themselves under their favourite tree by the lake one last time._

_'So what are you going to do now, Padfoot?' James asks Sirius. 'Have you decided?'_

_Sirius shakes his head. 'Not yet. I'm still trying to figure out what will piss off my parents the most. Maybe something in Muggle Liaisons. My mother would die. If she hasn't already,' he adds, as a bitter afterthought._

_The Marauders laugh, and Sirius fires back, 'What about you? Still going to become an Auror and save the world from dark wizards?'_

_James nods. 'The training starts in September, so I've got the whole summer to regret my decision.' Sirius grins at him, but James cuts him off before he can properly start into the teasing. 'And you, Wormtail? Did your mum get you on as a clerk in her department after all?'_

_Sitting up a little straighter at the novelty of being addressed directly, still, Peter replies, 'Yes. I start the week after next, actually.'_

_Conspicuously, no one asks Remus about his plans for employment. Sirius slings an arm around his shoulders in a way that is almost casual, and says wistfully, 'I'm gonna miss this place.'_

_There's a lot of feeling packed into such a simple sentence. Hogwarts has been home in many ways for many years, for all of them. They are adults now, and without the protection of the castle, they will have to face the full horror of the war being waged outside its walls. It's a topic they've often managed to avoid, and no one is willing to broach it now. Instead, they lapse into silence, the idea of a war incongruous with the brilliant sunshine._

_None of them have any idea of what is in store for them._


	2. Chapter 2

It's been three months since the worst day of his life, and Remus is half-heartedly sweeping snow from his front step when he hears a creak and a sigh at the gate. He turns around, not sure who he's expecting, but it's only the landlord. 

His throat tightens. James had been paying for this place for him, despite his weak objections. But no more Potters meant no more Potter money, and that shouldn't be the thing he was missing most about James in this moment, and yet...

Remus says a few things he later regrets, but ultimately accepts the eviction.

  


*

  


A job search as a werewolf can range from humiliating to dangerous, as Remus learned first-hand after Hogwarts. However, it has become a necessity, and he rejoins wizarding society with some trepidation. He finds a job; it's a menial one, but it's a job, and the pay allows him to rent a room in a flat shared by three recent Hogwarts graduates. He's barely five years older than them and yet he feels as if he could be their grandfather. They ignore him, and he ignores them, and the arrangement suits him just fine.

  


*

  


'Lupin? Come in. What do you need?'

Remus sits down in front of his manager, nervous. 'Good evening. Er – well, I had wondered whether I might have the night off on the 30th? It's just that I had planned a little holiday...' he trails off.

His manager frowns and looks at her calendar. 'I suppose that's all right. But didn't you call in just recently? Last month. Right around the same time, in fact...'

Remus feels his heart sink into his stomach. He's going to have to find another job.

  


*

  


It's been four years since the worst day of his life, and Remus has to remind himself that there's no shame in living among Muggles. They are people just as much as witches and wizards are. And as a point in their favour, they are much less prejudiced against werewolves.

A greengrocer has hired him on to help customers and stock shelves. He leaves his wand at home and works without magic, as a form of contrition. Each night he returns to his council flat where he lives alone, having lost his previous flat along with his old job. He lives a small, tidy life, except when his depression gets the better of him and the washing up gets out of hand. Most days though, he gets up and goes to work, takes a few groceries home with him, and spends a quiet evening waiting for the next day.

So this is life, Remus thinks to himself one day, as he returns home to his empty flat after an unremarkable day at work. A long, slow wait for death. Perhaps James had been better off: he hadn't had time to suffer.

The thought stabs him in the gut like a knife. This is why he tries to distract himself, he remembers, as he reaches for the liquor cabinet.

No amount of whisky can stem the thoughts now that they're bleeding out of him, however. God, he feels so _alone_. He had never expected to have friends as a child, and yet in this moment he almost wishes that he had never had them at all. Better to have never had them in the first place than to feel the pain of being abandoned.

He feels guilty about that one. His friends didn't abandon him. They're dead. Surely they wouldn't have chosen that fate for themselves, although Remus is increasingly feeling that he would rather like to join them.

No, they didn't deserve to be cut down like that. James, so full of confidence and life and love. Lily, so fiercely protective of the people she held dear. Peter had always been a little quieter, a little more on the edge of things, but Remus had been immensely fond of him. And Sirius, who is all but dead as well. 

Dully, Remus is surprised with himself for thinking of Sirius. His old flame is the thing he most staunchly avoids thinking about. He doesn't want to have anything to do with the traitor, not even mentally.

But of course, it's difficult to stop what he's started. _Sirius has been acting odd lately, have you noticed?_ Remus remembers Peter telling him. _He won't talk to me any more. He hasn't been home for weeks... what do you think he's up to?_

Well, he knows now. 

If only he hadn't been so slow to believe the worst of his best friend. He should have known, somehow, what was going to happen. He should've known that the Black legacy would prove stronger than anything the two of them may have shared. If only he hadn't been so trusting. So naive. If only he hadn't been such a _fucking_ coward...

The glass in his hand crunches as it breaks beneath his grip. He could repair it, he thinks, if he could remember what he's done with his wand, but then suddenly he's on his feet and he's smashing the glass to the floor with all the strength he can muster.

The anger drains out of him as quickly as it had flared up, and he falls back into his chair feeling weak. He closes his eyes. When he opens them again, it's morning, and he is stiff and sore. And alone.

  


*

  


It's been twelve years since the worst day of his life, and Remus isn't even trying any more.

He isn't even sure of his timekeeping. Maybe it's only been eleven years. The days all slide together. Even the curse isn't enough to count by. There was a full moon... some time ago. There will be another soon. It doesn't matter.

He paces idly through his derelict cottage, restless today. He's been living here for at least a couple of moons now. When he found it, it was broken down and abandoned, and he recognised a kindred spirit. No one has come calling, not for rent, not for repairs. It seems the cottage has been entirely forgotten. It suits him perfectly.

He flicks his wand at the wooden chair lying on its side in the sitting room. It rights itself, and he considers it for a moment, and then flicks his wand again. The chair tumbles backwards and crashes against the wall. He's doing magic just for the hell of it these days, just to remind himself that he is alive. Remus surveys the room, looking for inspiration for another spell to cast.

What does _purpose_ look like, he wonders, as he summons a dirty plate from the kitchen and then throws it, discus-style, at the front window. The plate proves stronger than the glass. It sails through the now-broken window and thuds somewhere out in the overgrown garden. 

What does it _mean_ to have a purpose in life? It had been so much easier when they were kids. One's purpose was to study and have fun and pass the exams at the end of the year. Things had been a little murkier after graduation, true, but working against Voldemort had felt very much like a purpose. And then the world had ended. How very unfair that he was being forced to go on after that.

A mouse squeaks and draws his attention as it darts across the floor. In an instant, he transfigures it into a pincushion. He stares at it for a moment, then returns it to its original form. It's not like he has any use for a pincushion anyway. He watches it scarper for freedom, wriggle under the door, and disappear. He wishes it well.

And then, there is a knock at the door. The sound is so bizarre, so at odds with his daily life, that Remus has to ponder for a moment over what he should do with it. Eventually, he goes to the door and opens it.


	3. Chapter 3

Standing on the front step, looking pleasant as if he stops by for tea all the time, is Albus Dumbledore. 'Remus,' he says warmly. 'How are you?'

Remus stares. His brain can't fit Dumbledore into this context. The man doesn't seem to fit into any context any more.

Dumbledore simply waits politely for a response. Eventually, Remus looks around at his cottage, which is probably in worse condition than the Shrieking Shack. He considers his clothes, shabby and dirty as they are, and scratches his head through his unkempt hair. 'Well,' he says. 'I'm very well.'

'I'm glad to hear it,' says Dumbledore, apparently unruffled by the brazen lie. He strides over the threshold without invitation and uses his wand to draw up two armchairs in the sitting room, settling into one of them. Remus follows but doesn't join him. He goes to lean against the door jamb instead, misjudges its proximity, stumbles. Maybe he should just sit down after all.

Dumbledore takes a moment to survey him with piercing blue eyes, and then says, 'I have a job offer for you.'

Whatever Remus had been expecting, this wasn't it. He casts his mind back a thousand years ago to his old school days and says, bluntly, 'Is the Defence job still cursed, then?'

There's a pause as Dumbledore considers him. 'It would only be a year's employment, yes.'

Remus chews it over. A year of good meals and a warm bed, and then possibly death? Overall, it didn't sound so bad. There were other considerations, however...

'Have you forgotten my condition, Professor?' he asks with a smile like a death-mask. 'I think parents would be upset if I were to bite their children.'

Dumbledore inclines his head. 'I have not forgotten. There have been recent advances in potion-making that, I am told, are able to make the condition much more manageable.'

'The Wolfsbane Potion,' Remus says bitterly. It had first been brewed while he was still a student. At the time, in his youthful arrogance, surrounded by his Animagus friends, he had dismissed it as unnecessary. After graduation, he had looked into it, but its complexity and price had put it far out of his reach. For all intents and purposes, it was no more than a legend. He shakes his head. 'You must know that I've never been able to take it.'

'Fortunately,' says Dumbledore, 'Hogwarts employs a particularly skilled Potions Master. As part of your salary, you will receive monthly doses of the Potion. I have brought the first batch along as an advance.'

From within his travelling cloak, Dumbledore produces a large flagon, stoppered with a cork. 'For the Potion to be effective, you will have to take some once a day for the seven days preceding the full moon,' he instructs.

Remus takes the flagon in shock. The idea that he could be conscious during his transformations, that perhaps they could even be peaceful, instead of a constant source of anxiety... If Dumbledore had handed him Caledfwlch, he would have been less surprised. He should probably say something. But all he can do is gape at the Headmaster.

Dumbledore smiles. 'I will expect you at the Welcome Feast on the evening of the first of September. We have some new security measures at the school this year, and as a result I would strongly recommend that you take the Hogwarts Express. I trust you remember when and where to board it. Please use the remainder of the summer to prepare your lessons.'

As he speaks, Dumbledore rises from his chair and moves towards the door. Remus follows him and finds his voice at last. 'I didn't say I had accepted the position.'

Dumbledore merely regards him for a moment and then turns away. He takes only a few steps out into the garden before he pauses and turns back. 'Oh,' he says, rummaging in his pockets again. 'I suppose you don't take the Prophet these days? You should keep up with the news, Remus.' He hands over a tightly furled copy of the Daily Prophet, which Remus takes without looking at it. Dumbledore nods solemnly, and Disapparates.

Remus stands on the step for a moment, and then shakes his head and goes back inside. He tosses the Prophet carelessly on the kitchen counter and makes himself a cup of tea while he mulls over his new job prospect.

A teacher. He had never imagined it as a possibility for himself. It could be gratifying, teaching the new generation of students to defend themselves, empower themselves. The more he thinks about it, the more he's drawn to the idea.

He unstoppers the flagon Dumbledore gave him and sniffs at its contents tentatively. A faint, bluish smoke curls out of the bottle. It irritates his nose and eyes a little, but is odourless and otherwise not too unpleasant. He raises the flagon in a wordless toast, and takes a swig.

Disgusting. Horrible. Remus gags, but forces it down, and braves another gulp. He washes it down with the remainder of his tea, but a bitter aftertaste lingers. The effects of the potion had better be worth the taste.

It's been a long time since the curse hasn't ripped his mind away during his transformations. As he stows the flagon in an otherwise empty cupboard under the sink, Remus finds himself almost—almost—looking forward to the full moon.

He washes the teacup and replaces it in the cupboard, lost in these new thoughts, when the Prophet catches his eye. It has unrolled a bit, sitting on the counter, and he flinches away from it when he sees the face staring at him from the front page.

The face is gaunt. Hollow-eyed. Older than he remembers. But he would recognise that face anywhere. He picks up the paper to read the headline. Nearly drops it again. _ON THE RUN: NOTORIOUS KILLER SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES FROM AZKABAN._

Feeling winded, Remus reads the article. If the paper is current (the date, 27 July, 1993, seems plausible enough), then Sirius has been on the run for two days. Remus has never heard of anyone breaking out of Azkaban before. The author of the article speculates about why he broke out, and where he is now, but they don't really know anything. Useless.

Putting the paper down, Remus paces into the sitting room. Sirius being physically locked away had made it easier to keep him contained mentally as well. Now that he's roaming the countryside, he's threatening to run all over Remus's mind too. And that's unacceptable.

Remus tries to strangle every thought of Sirius before it can arise, and keep all his other thoughts in check as well, but it's difficult. He seems to be feeling every emotion known to man simultaneously. There's one in particular that rises above the others, and he's surprised by it, but – _God_ , it felt good to read about current events in the wizarding world.

That's a safe thought. He lets himself feel that one. He returns to the kitchen and rips open the paper, devouring the articles hungrily. There's a lot of whinging about tariffs and taxes; an opinion piece criticising the Minister for Magic for employing Dementors; a list of new security measures in light of the recent prison break. It's all a bit dull and tedious and yet it feels exhilarating.

Ultimately, this is what makes up his mind. He will accept the job Dumbledore has offered him. It's been nearly twelve years since the worst day of his life, and Remus has been in exile for long enough.

  


*

  


Of course, _deciding_ to rejoin society and _actually_ rejoining society are two very different things. Remus arrives at King's Cross Station on 1 September as early as possible, feeling extremely nervous. The previous night had been a full moon, and though he's not as exhausted as he might have been (the Wolfsbane Potion really does work wonders. He'd been pleased to find a fresh batch sitting outside his door sometime late in August), it had still been a sleepless night of fretting and worrying. Also, packing a travelling case had proved difficult when working with paws instead of hands.

There are so many _people_ here. Mostly Muggles, at this hour; Remus checks the large clock hanging in the station and notes that he has nearly three hours before the Hogwarts Express departs. He slips onto platform nine and three-quarters surreptitiously and breathes a sigh of relief on two counts. One, the platform is completely deserted. And two, the train has already arrived, its doors open and waiting.

Remus takes a moment to fight the feelings of nostalgia that have welled up at the sight of the scarlet steam engine, and boards the train. He chooses a compartment at random—they're all empty, it doesn't much matter where he sits—and settles in. The nervousness and excitement and dread slowly begin to ebb into boredom. Perhaps he shouldn't have arrived _so_ early. He's so tired. Maybe he'll just close his eyes for a moment...

He wakes when the train stops suddenly with a jolt and a bang. Just before the lights go out, he sees a ghost.

There are children in the compartment with him, shouting in confusion in the darkness. An icy feeling of despair starts to spread through his chest. There must be a Dementor on the train.

With that, Remus understands several things at once.

'Quiet,' he tells the children. He conjures a handful of flames for light, and draws his wand. He doesn't look at them, doesn't look at one of them in particular, and approaches the door instead. It slides open before he can reach it, and a Dementor enters the compartment.

It takes a slow, rattling breath, and Remus is plunged into despondency. What a wild flight of fancy he's on, thinking that he could be a teacher. That he could ever be a normal and accepted member of society. His curse is nothing compared to the one he casts on everyone around him, driving them away, driving them to murder and betrayal...

With enormous effort, he fights the effects of the Dementor.

'None of us is hiding the fugitive under our cloaks,' Remus says. He thinks of his new job, and the new prospects for his future, and mutters, ' _Expecto patronum._ '

The thought isn't strong enough for a corporeal Patronus, but a silvery mist flows out of his wand, sufficient to dissuade the Dementor. As it leaves, the lights come back on.

One of the children has slid off his seat and is just coming to on the floor, surrounded by his friends. It's the kid Remus noticed earlier, the ghost; but this must be _Harry_ , not James. It's the eyes: the boy has Lily's eyes.

Remus gets down to business. He fetches a large chocolate bar from his case and breaks it into pieces. Harry gets back into his seat, shaking, and Remus hands him a piece of chocolate. 'Here. Eat. It will help.'

He hands out chocolate to the rest of them and fields their questions in a steady voice, despite the way his throat is tightening. His duty done, he tells them, 'I need to speak with the driver.' He excuses himself from the compartment, ducks into one of the train's toilets, and takes a moment to sob, his chest heaving as he cries. Only for a moment, however; he then collects himself, takes a few deep breaths, and returns to his compartment.

The kids look just as shaken as he is. They've barely moved since he left. Remus smiles, despite himself. 'I haven't poisoned that chocolate, you know.'

God, Harry is so much like James. Remus can read every single one of his thoughts on his face as if they were printed there. He looks much improved after the chocolate, but still flustered. 'Are you all right, Harry?' Remus asks him. Harry turns red and mutters in the affirmative without meeting his eyes. Ah, embarrassed then. He has nothing to be embarrassed about, but Remus senses that telling him so in front of his friends won't help matters. He'll have to find a way to tell him later.

Now that he's awake, Remus feels a bit self-conscious to be sharing his compartment with a group of teenagers. He excuses himself again and really does go up to speak with the driver this time. Fortunately, they've nearly arrived at the station in Hogsmeade, and as they pull in, Remus is able to duck off the train ahead of all the students. He climbs into the first available carriage and heads for the castle, his mouth set. He and Dumbledore need to have a discussion.

  


*

  


Unfortunately, he doesn't have an opportunity for a confrontation right away. McGonagall waylays him in the Entrance Hall, greeting him warmly and fretfully, and instructs him to sit at the teachers' table for the Welcome Feast. He obeys without question, and has already sat down before he remembers his original goal. Minerva McGonagall is a powerful woman in many ways. Remus wonders if he'll ever stop thinking of her as his Head of House.

A few of the other teachers are here already. Remus smiles to see Flitwick is still working at Hogwarts; he'd always been fond of the Charms teacher. He recognises most of the staff, in fact, except for a man with long black hair who is turned away from him, listening to Sinistra inquire about repairs to one of the towers. Remus wonders about him idly, fidgeting with his knife and fork, until he looks up and sees the man turn around. It can't be...

Upon noticing his gaze, Severus Snape gives him a single, curt nod, his mouth curling into a sneer, and then ignores him.

Remus is flummoxed. Severus is the most unlikely teacher imaginable. Last Remus had heard, he was a Death Eater in Voldemort's service. How he ended up here, _teaching_ , instead of in Azkaban or the cold hard ground, is an incredible mystery. Remus adds it to his list of questions for Dumbledore.

Remus is contemplative over the course of the Sorting and the Feast. To be here, with many of his old teachers, with Severus Snape, with a boy who looks very much like James Potter... Hogwarts has many more ghosts than he remembers.

Once the Feast is over, and the students are leaving the Great Hall, Remus makes his way over to Dumbledore. Carefully avoiding looking at Severus, he says, 'A word, Dumbledore? Now?'

The Headmaster consents with a nod, and Remus follows him silently to his office.

  


*

  


As soon as they enter the office, Remus says, without preamble, ' _Why_ did you not tell me that Lily and James's son would be at Hogwarts this year?'

Dumbledore sits down at his desk, looking guiltless. 'He's been at Hogwarts for two years now. I had assumed you would know that.'

Remus burns with shame, which only makes him angrier. 'Yes, well, I haven't exactly been in contact with the boy, have I? And whose fault is that?'

'I felt it was best for Harry to be raised away from the wizarding world, which would poke and prod and pull at the child without rest –'

'And what about me, Dumbledore?' Remus shouts. 'Did you feel it was best for me to be kept away from the wizarding world too?'

Dumbledore merely looks at him over his half-moon spectacles. Remus swallows his anger. This is the man who allowed him to have a normal childhood. Who is now giving him a second chance as an adult. He takes several steadying breaths and says, 'I apologise.'

'That's quite all right,' Dumbledore says graciously. 'I understand the last few years have not been easy for you, Remus. You are entitled to your anger.'

Somehow, Dumbledore being so understanding is making things worse. Remus paces, trying to calm himself, but he can't stop from saying, 'Did you hire me specifically because Sirius escaped from Azkaban?'

Dumbledore considers him. 'You are a highly accomplished wizard, Remus, and I thought your skills could be of use here.'

Remus nods, still moving. 'So you _are_ worried about Harry, then. Is this a precaution, or do you know something that's been kept out of the Prophet?' No response. 'I see. I gather you instructed me to take the train in case he, what – tried to hijack it? Was it also your intention for me to be there when Harry first encountered a Dementor? God only knows how you arranged that one...'

He's not done, he's got more he wants to say. A lot more. About the way Harry was kept away from him, about the way he was informed of Sirius's escape, about the circumstances of his hiring. About _Severus_. But Remus is drained, and he can't summon the words any more. He settles for muttering, 'Anyway. It doesn't matter,' even though it _does_ matter, and he takes his leave of the office. It's been a very long day, and his new job officially begins tomorrow. He needs to prepare.

  


*

  


Over the course of the next few weeks, Remus is delighted to learn that he has something of a flair for teaching. He'd prepared his lessons tirelessly over the summer, almost obsessively, and the work is now paying off. The old castle is home to several Boggarts, as he'd suspected, which are perfect for his third-year students. His second-years spend several raucous afternoons learning to Disarm each other. He impresses his sixth-year students with his mastery of non-verbal spells. For the most part, his students are respectful and well-behaved; they pick up on his enthusiasm, and under his tutelage they become keen and eager to learn. He catches himself smiling for no particular reason one day, and realises that he might be happy. What a strange thought.

The job isn't entirely easy and pleasant, however. The Slytherin classes are difficult. Theodore Nott looks so much like his father; does he know that he resembles a man who once tried to kill Remus? And the Malfoy boy is disrespectful at every turn, disrupting class, refusing to pay attention. Remus is hesitant to put him in detention, knowing full well how Lucius would likely react. He'll have to find some more creative ways to humble the boy.

And then there's Severus Snape. Remus hasn't had an opportunity to speak with the Headmaster since that first night, and he cannot fathom why Dumbledore would have hired on Severus as a teacher. He seems to have matured at least a little since they were at school together, but that isn't saying much. He appears to be openly bullying several of his students, and displays blatant favouritism. Remus can't imagine how he managed to acquire or keep his job.

On the whole, however, Remus is thoroughly enjoying teaching. He's shocked to wake up one morning and realise that it's already Hallowe'en; two months at Hogwarts have flown by in no time at all.

The full moon coincides with Hallowe'en this year, so he's feeling a bit restless. The castle is unusually quiet, with most of the students down in the village for the day. Flitwick had invited him down to the Three Broomsticks for a drink, but Remus is expecting a Grindylow to be delivered today, and at any rate he doesn't want to risk being out too late this evening.

The delivery-wizards arrive around mid-morning with an enormous tank of water. Filch hangs about looking disapproving, as if he still doesn't trust Remus to behave after all these years. The delivery-wizards work together to carefully levitate the tank into Remus's office, where it occupies a significant portion of the room. Remus wonders if perhaps he might have to teach the class in his office, rather than try to move the tank to the classroom himself.

Once the delivery-wizards have left and Filch has shuffled off, Remus contemplates the Grindylow. It glowers at him and swims off into the far corner of the tank, hiding in the weeds. He's just trying to decide if he should make a cup of tea or go down to the Great Hall for lunch when out of the corner of his eye he catches sight of someone walking past his door. Is that –?

'Harry?' Remus says, leaning out of his door. 'What are you doing? Where are your friends?'

'Hogsmeade,' says Harry, doing his best impression of indifference.

Remus considers this. Why hasn't Harry joined them? Did Dumbledore forbid him from leaving the castle, for his own safety? 'Why don't you come in,' he says. 'I've just had a delivery for our next class.'

'What is it?' Harry asks, and Remus is pleased to hear the keen note in his voice. He shows him the Grindylow in the tank and gives him a brief description of the water demon.

'Cup of tea?' Remus offers. 'I was just about to have one.'

Harry nods, a bit awkward. Remus sets his kettle to boil and fishes around his desk drawer for teabags and cups. 'These are all I have,' he says, showing Harry the tin of teabags, 'But I dare say you're not so keen on tea leaves these days?'

The boy flushes a little as he accepts the cup of tea. 'How did you know –?'

'Professor McGonagall told me,' Remus says, smiling warmly at him. 'You're not worried about that, are you?'

'No,' says Harry, sipping his tea and looking away.

Remus hesitates, but decides to press him a little. 'Is there anything that's worrying you, Harry?'

'No,' Harry repeats, watching the Grindylow in its tank and fidgeting with his tea. Then he says, 'Yes. You remember the day with the Boggart?'

'Yes,' says Remus slowly. He's not sure where this is going.

'Why didn't you let me fight it?'

Remus is surprised. 'I would have thought that was obvious. I had assumed that if you were to face the Boggart, it would take on the form of Lord Voldemort.' Harry stares at him as if the idea hadn't occurred to him at all. 'It seems I was wrong. But I didn't think it would be a good idea for Voldemort to appear in front of the class. I thought that people might panic.'

Harry nods slowly. 'That makes sense. But I was thinking of those... of the Dementors.'

In that moment, Remus feels very fond of the boy. He smiles. 'Well. I'm impressed. That suggests that what you fear most is, well, fear itself. Very wise of you.'

Harry looks a tad embarrassed, but pleased as well. Remus continues, 'Have you been under the impression that I thought you incapable of fighting a Boggart?'

'Er – yeah,' he says, looking much more cheerful. 'Listen, Professor –'

They are interrupted by a knock at the door. Severus enters, carrying a goblet of Wolfsbane Potion. Remus cringes inwardly at the timing, but forces himself to smile and say, 'Ah, Severus. Thank you.'

Severus narrows his eyes at Harry as he sets the goblet down on Remus's desk. 'You should drink that immediately, Lupin.'

Remus nods, still trying to be pleasant and pretending that this situation doesn't make him uneasy at all. 'Yes, I will. Thanks very much.'

'Not at all,' Severus says, backing out of the room with a distinctly unpleasant look on his face.

Harry is agape at this development, and Remus feels he ought to give him some sort of explanation. 'Professor Snape has very kindly brewed this potion for me. I'm not exactly a dab hand at potion-making, and this one has a particularly complicated recipe.' He takes a sip. It's disgusting as ever. 'Pity about the taste,' he adds.

Unsurprisingly, Harry is not satisfied. 'What – why?'

'I have... a bit of a condition, I'm afraid,' Remus says, opting for something close to the truth. 'This potion is the only thing that helps. I'm very fortunate to be working with such a skilled Potions Master who is willing to make it for me.'

'Snape's very interested in the Dark Arts,' Harry tells him, obviously concerned.

'Mm,' says Remus, struggling to keep his face neutral. He focusses on draining the goblet instead.

Harry looks as though he's going to protest further, but Remus beats him to it. 'Well, Harry, I've got some work to do before tomorrow. I'd better let you go. I'll see you at the feast tonight.'

'Right,' says Harry. He's clearly burning with questions, but he keeps them to himself as he leaves.

Remus watches him go, wondering how long it will take James Potter's son to guess the nature of his condition.

  


*

  


The Hallowe'en Feast is delicious. Remus suspects that at least part of his newfound happiness is owed to the regular meals he's been eating for the last two months; he's put on at least a few pounds and is feeling much stronger and healthier than he has in a long time.

He keeps an eye on his watch as he eats, and has to excuse himself before the Feast is over. He leaves the Great Hall without pudding, regretfully, but it's best to exercise caution on the full moon, especially when surrounded by so many people. He strolls back to his office, feeling the curse begin to paw at him.

Remus carefully locks the door to his office. He takes off his robes and hangs them in the wardrobe, and places his battered old watch on his desk. He has time to review a few of his fourth-years' essays before he feels the transformation begin in earnest.

An unfortunate side effect of the Wolfsbane Potion is that transforming is actually more painful than it used to be. Normally, his mind would fade away somewhere in the middle, blissfully unaware of the pain throughout his body. Now, however, he must endure the entire process. He tries to restrain himself to be as quiet as possible, but a few groans and gasps of agony escape him, and he can't help but shriek as his face elongates into a snout, the sound becoming a howl partway through. Hopefully all the castle's occupants are still at the feast.

Remus shakes himself once it's over. The sensation of his human mind inhabiting the body of a wolf still feels unfamiliar. He looks at the essays on his desk, waiting to be marked, and decides against doing any more work tonight. Instead he curls up under his desk, warm beneath his fur, and falls soundly asleep. Rain lashes at the windows, but it is not enough to wake him; nor are the pounding footsteps as someone runs past his office door.


	4. Chapter 4

Daylight is streaming through a gap in the curtains when he wakes, human, but still curled up on the floor like an animal. There's a persistent knocking at the door. Remus rises and bangs his head on the desk above him. Right. He climbs out more carefully, grabs his robes, and opens the door.

Severus strides into the room, looking around with a sneer on his face. 'Where is he, Lupin? Where are you hiding him?'

Remus is taken aback. 'I have no idea what you're talking about, Severus.' He's more concerned with the lump he's just raised on his skull, and the headache that's already building.

Undeterred, Severus goes into the little room adjoining the office and opens the wardrobe. 'Now really, Severus!' Remus says, rushing after him to close the wardrobe and preserve what little dignity he has. 'What are you doing? What is this about?'

Severus looks at him, stares at him, his eyes drilling into Remus, who stares back and lets his bewilderment and indignation be pulled to the surface of his mind. Severus huffs, angry that he can't find what he's looking for, but not put off. He walks back into the office and says, 'Last night a certain _schoolmate_ of ours came for a visit and tried to get into his old common room.'

Remus forgets all about his headache. ' _What?_ '

'That's right,' Severus says, his eyes still roving in search of his target. 'And I know exactly who would have helped him get in.'

Furious, Remus says, 'I have had nothing to do with that man for twelve years. To what end would I be helping him now? To help him finish the job he started?' He remembers, suddenly. 'Surely you know that last night was the night that James and L–'

'I know,' Severus snaps, his eyes flashing. He strides over to the window, turning his back for a moment. Something slides into place for Remus, but it doesn't dissipate his anger.

'I lost everyone I've ever loved that night,' Remus says fiercely. 'If you think that I would ever help that murdering bastard –' He takes a sharp breath. 'We're not children any more, Severus. I've grown up. It's time you did too. Now get out of my office.'

Severus stalks past him without a word or glance. Remus closes the door behind him with a little more force than necessary. He roams blindly, picking things up at random and putting them down again. The nerve. The _gall._ Unbelievable.

He can't settle to anything that morning. He abandons his lesson plans after writing half a dozen words. He boils the kettle but doesn't follow through on the cuppa. Eventually, the anger is slowly overtaken by fatigue and that damn headache. He goes into his little room and lies down on the bed, hoping some more sleep will make him feel better.

  


*

  


November passes by in a blur of cold rain and collective anxiety. Both students and teachers are on edge after Sirius's incursion. There's talk of little else in the staff room. Out in the halls the students move in nervous groups, afraid to be caught on their own. A tiny first-year boy in one of Remus's classes bursts into tears one day, and has to be talked down from the idea that Sirius Black might kill him and his friends.

Fortunately, a Quidditch match scheduled for the last weekend of the month provides an excellent distraction for most of the castle's inhabitants. Unfortunately, it takes place the day after a full moon, and Remus is still too unwell to attend it. He wasn't even able to teach his classes on Friday, and as he lies in bed, shuddering with chills and wistfully listening to the distant sounds of cheering, he wonders idly who Dumbledore found to cover the lessons.

The weekend passes in a lonely sort of way. He barely has his thoughts for company, as he has to keep smothering them every time his mind turns to a certain dark-haired, handsome – no. Dangerous. He needs something else to occupy himself. Remus finds himself looking forward to the noise and commotion of the week. Being among people again has made him realise how much he's missed them.

Monday, however, is a difficult day. Remus returns to class to discover that Severus has instructed his third-years to study how to identify and kill werewolves. After class, Harry wants to speculate on how Sirius escaped from Azkaban, and in trying to change the subject, Remus somehow agrees to teach a thirteen-year-old how to cast a Patronus. He's still feeling weak and feverish after the full moon, and by the end of his last class he wants nothing more than to curl up under his blankets and sleep.

Thankfully, the week improves as it goes on, and by Friday Remus is feeling much better about everything. The miserable November weather is slowly transitioning into beautiful December snow, and everyone's thoughts are turning towards the holidays. Remus is not particularly excited about the holidays, especially with a full moon over the break, but at least it means Severus won't be covering any of his classes this month.

On Christmas morning, the winter sun is already feebly lighting the room when Remus wakes up. He shifts around, not sure if he'll get up right away, when he feels something slide off the foot of his bed and land softly on the floor. Confused, he leans out of bed and sees a small, paper-wrapped parcel. He stares at it for a moment. It reminds him irresistibly of Christmas mornings at Hogwarts when he was a student. But he's not a child any more, and anyway he hasn't received a Christmas gift in over a decade. Is this a pity gift from McGonagall perhaps?

He retrieves it from the floor and unwraps it. Inside is a pair of thick, warm socks wound around a small box of assorted Honeydukes chocolates.

Mystified, Remus looks the package over, but there's no note accompanying it. The socks and the chocolates are small, token gifts, but they're thoughtful. Remus has rather a significant sweet tooth, and he's also worn holes in every pair of socks he owns. Must have been McGonagall. He smiles faintly, popping open the box of chocolates, and making a mental note to thank her later.

Since it's Christmas and all, Remus spends an indulgent day in front of the fire, sipping tea, reading a novel he'd taken from the school library, and working his way through the box of chocolates. There are very few people staying at the castle over the break; no one so much as walks by his door all day. He starts to feel a bit lonely as dusk falls, but decides against going down to the Great Hall for dinner. He can't face the thought of an intimate meal with Severus Snape. The curse is beginning to sing in his blood, at any rate, and the feeling of it puts him in a feral mood. Better to keep to himself over the next few days. Better for everyone.

  


*

  


Remus is still feeling a bit ill from the moon when lessons begin again. All his students seem a bit dazed from the break, so he's able to fly under the radar, but the end of the day can't come fast enough. He finally finishes up his last class, the third-years, when he remembers that he hasn't yet thanked McGonagall for his Christmas gift. He's wearing the socks today and he's very glad to have them. They're lovely and warm for walking about a draughty castle.

He's interrupted from this train of thought by Harry, who comes up to the front as his classmates leave. 'Hey, er – Professor?'

'Harry,' Remus says warmly. 'How were your holidays?'

'Good,' he says, shuffling his feet. 'Er, I was wondering – it's the new term now. D'you have time to teach me how to fight Dementors?'

'Ah, yes,' says Remus. He hadn't forgotten, precisely. He had just pushed the idea to the back of his mind and hadn't yet retrieved it. He names a time and location at random, wondering how on earth he's going to set up these lessons. Harry seems very keen, so he'd better figure it out and soon.

Fortunately, Remus has an idea during class the next morning. He spends a few days wandering up and down the castle, looking in every nook and cranny he can find, until finally he opens a filing cabinet and the moon flies out of it, full and bright and terrible. He captures the Boggart in a large packing case and feels very pleased with himself indeed.

The first Patronus lesson starts off better than Remus had expected. Quite quickly, Harry is able to produce silvery, wispy clouds of magic, though as soon as the Boggart-Dementor is released from the packing case, the proto-Patronus evaporates. Harry staggers and collapses.

Remus forces the Boggart back into the case and feels the classroom regain its warmth. 'Harry? Are you OK?'

Harry moans as he picks himself up. 'Fine. I'm fine. Let's go again.'

'Eat this first,' Remus insists, handing him a bit of chocolate. 'Listen, Harry, this is very advanced magic, I don't know if I want to put you through this...'

'No!' says Harry, his mouth set in a very Lily-like expression. 'This is important! What if the Dementors show up at another match? We'll lose the Quidditch Cup!'

Never mind; that determination is all James. 'Very well,' says Remus. 'Finish up the chocolate, and we'll try again. See if you can come up with a different memory this time.'

His second attempt is much weaker. Just before the wispy Patronus disappears, Harry seems to lose heart. It's as if he just gives up and submits to the Dementor. He's still lying on the floor by the time Remus has once more wrestled the Boggart back into its case.

'Harry?' Remus says, kneeling over him. 'Wake up. Are you all right?'

The boy stirs. Eyes still closed, he mumbles, 'I heard my dad. He tried to hold off Voldemort on his own... tried to give my mum time to grab me and run...'

Remus sits back on his heels. A Dementor can make its victims relive their worst memories. And the night his parents died would certainly have been traumatic for Harry... if he had been a little older. Surely he wouldn't have such early memories?

At any rate, Remus is much more interested in learning that James had been courageous and foolhardy to the end. 'You heard James?'

Harry looks up at him. 'Yeah. Did you know my dad?'

Remus is hurt. He's never met the aunt and uncle who have raised Harry, but surely, in their stories of his parents, Remus's name would have come up? He had been an important figure in James's life. Or so he'd thought. 'We were – friends, at school.' That much had been true at least. Right?

'Really?' Harry pushes himself up, looking eager. 'Did you know him well? What was he like?'

An odd question. 'He was... passionate. James never did things halfway. If he had an idea, or a project, or a goal, there was no deterring him. He would see it through, no matter what.' Harry's eyes are shining, so Remus continues. 'He could be pigheaded sometimes. And God, not all of his ideas were good ones. I'm sure you've heard the story of how he proposed to Lily –'

Harry shakes his head. 'Not at all! How did he do it?'

Remus pauses. How is it that Harry could know so little about his parents? Unless... 'Harry, didn't your aunt and uncle tell you these stories?'

Harry bites his lip and looks away, which confirms Remus's suspicions. He feels his blood boil. It was one thing for Dumbledore to keep the boy protected from prying eyes and inquiring minds. But for Harry to be isolated from everyone who'd ever loved him? James and Lily were well-known and well-loved by many people. Has Harry really never had contact with any of his parents' friends?

'I'm sorry,' Harry says. It sounds like a reflex.

'No, no, you have nothing to be sorry about,' Remus tells him. 'I'm the one who should apologise. I should have –' _I should have made an effort to find you,_ he doesn't say. Instead, he says, 'I think we've both had too much contact with Dementors today. Even if it's only a Boggart, its effect is quite pronounced.'

Harry shoots to his feet, sways, and then steadies himself with a stubborn look on his face. 'No! One more go. Please, Professor.'

Against his better judgement, Remus allows him one more attempt. Harry's Patronus is still incorporeal, but it's stronger this time. He's able to stay on his feet, holding off the Dementor for ten seconds, fifteen...

Remus jumps in just before the Patronus fails. Once the Boggart is safely packed away, he turns around with a smile on his face. 'That was brilliant, Harry! Very well done. I'm impressed.'

Harry beams at the praise. 'Can we try again?'

Remus laughs. 'No. That's enough for one night. We'll try again next week.'

Harry's disappointed, but he accepts the end of the lesson, as well as the large slab of chocolate that Remus hands him. They're gathering up their things and preparing to leave when Harry says, 'Professor?' as if he's just thought of something. 'If you knew my dad, did you know Sirius Black as well?'

'What do you mean?' Remus says sharply. Too sharply. He's reminded immediately of Hallowe'en, and Severus's accusations.

Harry back-pedals at his reaction. 'No, I just meant – I knew that they were friends too, at Hogwarts...'

Forcing himself to relax a little, Remus heaves a sigh. 'Yeah. I thought I knew him, anyway. Listen, it's getting late. You'd better be off, Harry, or else Mr Filch will have a detention for you.'

Remus watches him leave, watches as James's black hair disappears around the corner. For the first time in months, he feels his eyes burn with tears. He wipes them away impatiently. It's long past time that he buried his ghosts. He ought to stop letting them haunt him.

  


*

  


The winter at Hogwarts is bitterly cold, far colder than Remus remembers. He grows increasingly grateful for his warm socks and starts to wish his anonymous benefactor had gifted him a scarf as well. But winter, like all things, ends eventually. Spring starts to push its way through the heavy snow. As February passes into March, the days are almost warm again.

The next Quidditch match, Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw, draws nearer. Harry becomes almost frantic in their Patronus lessons, relentless in his determination to master the charm. Remus remembers fondly how passionate James had been about Quidditch, and wonders if he would have attempted to learn advanced magic purely for the sake of the sport. He decides: Yes, absolutely.

The day of the match dawns clear and bright. This is the first Quidditch game that doesn't fall anywhere near the full moon, and Remus is determined to watch it. Before the game, however, he has a small matter to attend to.

He eats an early breakfast and leaves the Great Hall before most of the students have even arrived. He strolls through the Entrance Hall and out the giant oak front doors, down the stone steps into the grounds. It's chilly despite the dawn light, and he shivers. He's made his decision, however, and he walks purposefully towards the lake.

When he reaches the lake shore, Remus takes a moment to look out across the water. The surface of the lake is like old glass in the light breeze. The Marauders had explored nearly every inch of the Hogwarts grounds, but had rarely done more than wade in the lake on lazy summer days. It seems an oversight, now. Perhaps the new generation of students will carry on their legacy and explore where they had never tread.

The shore is thick with stones here, smoothed by the water. Remus picks up a handful of pebbles and lets them run through his fingers until four remain. He considers, weighing them in his hands, and then drops one more.

Remus shuffles the three pebbles as he climbs back up the beach. There's a tree by the lake here, a solitary tree. At this time of year, its branches are bare, but in the summer it provides a wonderful patch of shade. He approaches the tree like an old friend. At the base of its trunk, he lays the three pebbles on the ground, side-by-side. He uses his wand to paint them different colours: green for Lily, gold for James, blue for Peter. And then he buries them, in their favourite spot. He feels that he ought to say something, but no words rise to his lips. He lets the breeze and the sun speak the eulogy for him.

And then he turns and walks away, heading for the Quidditch pitch, where there is light and noise and, undeniably, life.


	5. Chapter 5

Remus lies awake that night, after the Quidditch match, unable to sleep. His heart is practically bursting with pride. Harry had produced a Patronus, a real one. It didn't matter that the 'Dementors' had just been a couple of kids. A corporeal Patronus in any situation is an achievement, especially for a thirteen-year-old. And the form it had taken... Remus would have recognised those antlers anywhere. It had been lovely to see Prongs again.

Watching the Quidditch game had been a thrill in its own right, too. He'd missed Gryffindor's first game of the year because of the curse, but he's glad that he'd had the opportunity to catch this one. Remus can't remember the last time he watched a Quidditch match, and Hogwarts has produced a number of remarkable flyers. Angelina Johnson in particular scored a couple of very impressive goals. There was no doubt that Oliver Wood was an exceptional Keeper. And Harry, of course, flew with all the confidence that James had had. From a distance, Remus could be forgiven for forgetting which Potter was speeding down the pitch. The family resemblance really is quite strong...

Remus is in such a good mood that the thoughts of James don't make him melancholic at all. If he had to cast a Patronus right now, he feels confident that he could produce a powerful one. He does wish his mind would calm enough for sleep, though. He has lessons to prepare tomorrow and it won't do to sleep through breakfast.

There's a sharp rap at his office door. He can't imagine who would be calling at this hour. He pulls on his dressing gown, yawning despite his wakefulness, and goes through into his office. McGonagall is at the door, wearing her own tartan dressing gown and a thin expression. One look at her face and Remus gives up all hope of sleeping tonight. Ten minutes later, he's walking down the corridor away from his office, aiding in the search for Sirius Black.

So. Moony and Prongs hadn't been the only Marauders at Hogwarts that evening. Padfoot had been there too. If only Wormtail could have been so polite as to join them.

_How_ is Sirius getting into Hogwarts? He was always smart and capable, but impressing one's Charms teacher is significantly different than breaking out of one of the most secure places in the country, only to break into another. Remus doesn't even want to consider _why_. But the more he thinks about it, he doesn't really want to consider _how_ , either.

Because there are several obvious ways that Sirius could be getting into the grounds. From the passage in the Shrieking Shack, for example. Or the one from Honeydukes. Using either passage would mean entering Hogsmeade, which would be very difficult for a wanted man... but likely not an issue for a big friendly dog.

Remus rounds a corner and raises his wand when he sees movement, but it's only a large portrait of a kneazle, prowling in its frame. Remus sighs and continues down the corridor.

He had never told any of his old teachers about his Animagus friends, and as far as he knows, none of them had ever figured it out. Surely, Sirius Black being an Animagus would be public information, if it were known. Remus feels a pang in his chest as he realises that he may be the only person alive who knows that Sirius can disguise himself so easily.

Should he tell someone? Almost certainly. But whom? His gut twists at the thought of telling Dumbledore. It would mean admitting that he had betrayed the Headmaster's trust and done stupid, dangerous things when Dumbledore had worked so hard to convince everyone that he wasn't a danger at all. He can't tell Dumbledore. Which means that he can't tell anyone.

That's probably not how Sirius is getting in the castle anyway, Remus thinks as he climbs a staircase. No doubt Voldemort taught him a few new tricks. He must be using some kind of Dark magic.

Remus wonders when Sirius went over to the wrong side. Was it after they had graduated? Or was he working for Voldemort all along? Sirius had often disparaged his family for their connections to the Death Eaters. Had that been an act? Unlikely. He had seemed quite sincere in his hatred for the Dark Arts. And his family had disowned him in their sixth year. He'd lived with James after that. So what happened? What could _possibly_ have driven Sirius to betray and kill his best friends?

Lost in thought, Remus is hardly even searching any more. If only he still had the Map. Then he could search from his warm and comfortable bed, instead of roaming the dark, draughty castle corridors.

He finds himself at the top of the Astronomy Tower. No sign of Sirius. There is someone up here though; McGonagall is standing by one of the windows, looking out over the grounds. She starts when Remus approaches her.

'No sign of him?' she asks.

Remus shakes his head. She gives him a small, sad smile and lays a gentle hand on his shoulder, then brushes past him to leave him alone. Remus takes up her post, staring out the window, looking at the grounds without really seeing them. The sky has begun to lighten considerably before he finally returns to bed.

  


*

  


A week goes by without further incident and the castle begins to settle back into its normal routine. Saturday afternoon finds Remus sitting at his desk, lazily marking essays and enjoying the warmth of the crackling fire burning in the hearth. He nearly upsets his inkwell all over a stack of Hufflepuff essays when the flames suddenly turn bright green and Severus's voice issues from the fireplace: 'Lupin! I want a word!'

God only knows what this could be about. Remus gets up and steps into the fire, feeling apprehensive. He spins away into Severus's office, which is much less bright and cosy than his own. Brushing soot from his sleeves, Remus says, 'You called?'

'I did,' Severus replies, curt. 'I have just confiscated a highly suspicious object from Potter here.'

Remus is surprised to see Harry there, but even more surprised to see the object Severus is indicating. The Map is a bit more worn than he remembers, but there's no mistaking it. Especially with the taunts shining on it in bright ink. Severus must have been trying to read it.

After a decade of friendship with someone like James Potter, Remus had developed an excellent poker face. He employs it now. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs had been secret nicknames... sort of. He had never been sure whether the other students had caught on to them, never imagining that it would matter. He decides to feign ignorance for as long as he can.

'This parchment is suspicious?' Remus asks casually. 'It looks like a joke-shop item. A bit childish, perhaps, but surely no cause for concern?'

'It is plainly full of Dark magic,' Severus insists, anger colouring his voice. 'It is dangerous and must be investigated. You think he bought it in a joke-shop? You don't think it more likely that he received it _directly from the authors_?'

He knows. Bollocks. Thinking fast, Remus says, 'Harry, do you know any of these men? Mr Moony, Mr Prongs?'

'No,' says Harry, shaking his head frantically. The boy is easy to read even without Legilimency, and Remus is relieved to see that Severus is at least looking a little less suspicious now. It's still not a good situation, however, and Remus is trying to come up with some kind of exit strategy when the door bursts open and Ron Weasley tumbles into the office.

'I – bought – Harry – that – stuff – ages – ago,' he pants, out of breath and wiping sweat from his face.

Remus has never seen a more obvious lie in his life, but it's exactly what he needs to take control of the situation. 'Well!' he says pleasantly, 'That's that then, isn't it? I'll just take this, shall I?' He takes the Map and tucks it into his robes before anyone can stop him. 'Harry, Ron, I need a word about your homework. Would you excuse us, Severus?'

He shepherds the boys out of the office, leaving Severus looking furious. They're a long way from the dungeons when Harry finally says, 'Professor, I –'

'I don't want to hear it.'

Remus is a little more sharp with Harry and Ron than he had intended to be, but the reappearance of the Map has him rattled. Where did Harry get it? James couldn't have passed it on. Filch confiscated it in their final year and they'd had to graduate without it. And yet, here it is. And Harry has been using it to circumvent the security measures put in place to protect _him_ specifically. If something had happened... If Remus had lost another Potter to Sirius... He can't bear even the thought of the additional guilt.

He returns to his office alone, having sent the boys on their way before he could put them in detention for the rest of the year for their own good. The idea was an attractive one. It still is. He might have to reconsider it later.

For now, he removes the Map from the pocket inside his robes and lays it on his desk. The parchment is warm from sitting next to his heart. For a moment, he merely considers it. The taunts, a security measure they'd considered the peak of humour, have faded, leaving it a blank slate once again.

He leaves it where it is and walks away. And returns. And walks away again. Finally, he goes back to his desk and lowers the tip of his wand onto the parchment. Softly, he says, 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.'

Hogwarts fans out before him in miniature. 'Hello, old friend,' Remus whispers.

Every stroke of the quill, every splash of ink, greets him with a thousand memories. Sirius and James had purposely gotten a detention with each of the teachers in turn during their seventh year in order to map their offices. James had become convinced that the girls' toilet on the second floor was much bigger than it seemed, and moped for about a fortnight after Lily caught him trying to get in.

Remus brushes a finger over a stretch of wall on the third floor, remembering how Sirius had wanted to make their favourite snogging spot Unplottable. It had been beyond even his abilities, so he'd settled for simply leaving it off the Map. Thinking about it now, it was probably unnecessary. It's not as if James and Peter were going to come looking for them. But the secret makes him smile, just a little.

Over weeks, over months, poring over the Map becomes something of an obsession. Remus revels in the familiar details, the little quirks, the hidden notes. For a long time, he barely registers the actual information of the Map. When he does eventually start to study the movements of the castle's inhabitants, it's with some trepidation. Sirius has already made several attempts to enter the castle; Remus dreads the day he might look at the Map and see Sirius's name moving through the halls. He settles instead for exclusively keeping a close eye on Harry. True to his word, the boy doesn't appear to make any new attempts at sneaking out of the grounds. He goes to his classes, his Quidditch practices, and his common room, and that's about it. As more and more time passes, Remus begins to relax. Perhaps they can finish the year without further incident.

The end of the year is certainly fast approaching. Remus is watching the Map one night, as he does every night now, when there's a knock at his office door. He folds up the Map with as much care as he can manage at speed and calls, 'Come in!'

McGonagall opens the door. 'Good evening, Remus,' she says.

Remus gets to his feet. 'Good evening.'

'I've just come to remind you that the final exams you intend to set your students must be submitted for approval no later than tomorrow morning,' she tells him crisply. 'I trust you're nearly finished?'

Poker face. Poker face. 'Absolutely,' Remus says warmly, 'Just putting on the finishing touches. You'll have everything by tomorrow.'

McGonagall nods approvingly and takes her leave. As soon as the door closes behind her, Remus drops into his chair and groans. If he's being honest with himself, he has been letting his work slip a little lately. But completely forgetting to write exams for his students? That's unacceptable.

Remus tucks the Map into a desk drawer before he can succumb to the temptation to check it one last time. Instead, he pulls out a clean roll of parchment and a quill, and gets to work.

Hours later, he's feeling hopeless. The candle on his desk has burned low, the wick almost swimming in melted wax, and yet he still has so much work ahead of him. He's got completed exam papers for the first- and second-years; those ones were rather simple. He's got half a paper for his fifth-years. And that's about it.

He leans back in his chair, afraid to check the time, letting his eyes rove around his office instead. His gaze falls on the gigantic Grindylow tank against the wall and he stares at it for a moment, his mind blank. And then inspiration strikes.

It's a brilliant idea, really. It will test what his students have learned this year, which of course is the goal of a final exam, but it won't require much work at all on his part. He grabs a fresh scrap of parchment, scribbles a note, and triumphantly goes to bed.

  


*

  


The obstacle course exam is a great success. His students all seem to enjoy the unconventional approach. A few of them, particularly Neville Longbottom, score much better on the practical exam than they likely would have done on a written one. Remus returns to his office that evening feeling thoroughly pleased with himself.

Exams are done. He's made it through the year. Remus fishes around in his desk for the bottle he's been saving for this moment. Tonight, he's going to treat himself to a glass of Firewhisky and an evening with the Marauder's Map.

He settles into his chair, the Map spread out before him. Out of habit, he finds Harry's dot on the Map first; the boy is in the Gryffindor common room, no doubt celebrating the end of exams with his friends.

Except he doesn't stay there. Remus follows the dot as Harry, accompanied by Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, sneaks out of the common room. Remus checks the time; it's not quite curfew yet. Still... He watches as they move through the corridors and out the front doors into the grounds. _That's_ certainly not permitted any more.

The three of them move down to Hagrid's hut. Remus had heard about the business with the Hippogriff. Those kids are kind, to visit Hagrid tonight, even if they're breaking the rules to do it. Remus decides he can't fault them for that.

His eyes roam to other parts of the Map in the meantime. Dumbledore is pacing in his office. Filch is prowling the third floor. Severus is climbing the stairs out of the dungeons. A few straggler Ravenclaws are trying to get to their common room before curfew, and Remus watches them until movement in the grounds catches his eye. Harry, Ron, and Hermione are leaving Hagrid's. But – but – this time they're accompanied by someone new. Remus feels his brain jam. He can't possibly be reading that right. He rubs his eyes and shakes his head, but when he looks at the Map again, the fourth dot is still labelled the same as it was before: Peter Pettigrew.


	6. Chapter 6

' _Impossible,_ ' he breathes. ' _I buried you._ '

But the Map never lies. If that tiny dot is labelled Peter Pettigrew, then it is only because Peter Pettigrew is in the grounds at this very moment, accompanied by Harry and his friends.

His brain still jammed, Remus watches as another dot approaches the four of them, fast: Sirius Black. The dots collide and then Sirius, Peter, and Ron Weasley move into the passage beneath the Whomping Willow and off the Map.

Remus is running before he even realises it. He can't quite form coherent thoughts, but he knows where he's going, and he knows that one way or another, there will be some answers waiting for him. Peter is alive. But that means – but that means –

Out of the castle. Under the Willow. Through the tunnel. Remus enters the Shrieking Shack and breathes in dust and memories. It's very still, and very quiet.

He takes a few tentative steps, unsure of what he's going to find—and then nearly jumps out of his skin when someone screams from upstairs. 'WE'RE UP HERE! IT'S SIRIUS BLACK! QUICK!' That's Hermione Granger's voice. His heart in his throat, Remus pounds up the stairs and bursts through the door at the top of the landing.

There's Ron, collapsed on the floor. Hermione is cowering by the door. And Harry is here too, on his feet, his wand pointed at –

' _Expelliarmus!_ ' Remus cries, catching each of the three wands that fly toward him. Sirius is bloodied and crumpled on the floor, but his chest is heaving and his eyes are open. For a moment, the two of them simply stare at each other. Remus is breathing heavily.

' _Where is he?_ ' Remus asks finally, his voice shaking.

Sirius's eyes seem stuck on Remus's face. He doesn't move, he doesn't say anything. Remus is on the verge of asking again, of _demanding_ to know, of shaking answers out of him, when Sirius raises a hand and points at Ron Weasley.

The pet rat? Scrapper, or whatever its name is? 'But why?' Remus asks. 'Why would he – unless. Did you –? Without telling anyone?'

None of that constitutes a coherent question, but Sirius gets the gist. Slowly and deliberately, still staring at Remus, Sirius nods.

Remus's mind whirls. He feels elated, dizzy, nauseated. Sirius is innocent. _Sirius is innocent._ SIRIUS IS INNOCENT.

He strides over to Sirius and offers him a hand, helps him to his feet, and throws his arms around him. Sirius smells as if he hasn't washed in about a decade. He probably hasn't, Remus thinks. His hair is long and tangled and awful, his beard is overgrown and scratchy, and yet Remus doesn't want to let go of him at all. He only does so, reluctantly, when Hermione screams.

Hours pass, or maybe only minutes, as they explain things to the children, and each other. They explain about the war, the secrets, the betrayals. They try to explain to Severus too, when he comes bursting in, but he is unhinged and solely interested in revenge. It doesn't end well for him.

Later, in a strange procession, they all make their way out of the Shrieking Shack. The open night is hardly brighter than the dark tunnel, but Remus feels as though he is carrying a light inside himself. It's a hesitant, fluttery feeling. As they make their way up towards the castle, he begins to recognise its warmth: it's hope. He looks back to see Sirius exiting the tunnel behind him, and the feeling intensifies. In fact, it seems to light up the very night around them...

But there's another feeling too, one that smothers the flame of hope completely. The brightness around them is the moon, the full moon, sliding out from behind the clouds. It takes only a moment for him to fully understand the depths of his foolishness.

The curse tugs at his mind and body, greedy as always. Chained beside him, Peter stiffens as he senses it. But his old friend is the least of his worries at the moment. Peter would deserve what he got, and worse, at the teeth of an untamed werewolf, but the children... he can't have them on his conscience.

Fortunately, Peter makes a selfish, cowardly choice: he transforms. As a rat, he slips free of the tethers, and thus frees Remus as well. Sirius roars in dismay behind them, but Remus doesn't look back. He can't risk wasting a second. He loses track of Peter, loses track of everyone, as he bolts for the Forest. Dark trees whip past him as his mind recedes and the wolf bursts out of him. He remembers no more.

  


*

  


When Remus wakes, he feels cold and stiff and weak. His robes are gone, naturally. They shouldn't matter to him, not really, but they were his last good set of robes. Ripped to shreds, likely, when he transformed. He feels sick at the thought of what else might have been ripped to shreds last night. He rolls onto his side and dry-heaves. Nothing comes up. Hopefully that's a good sign.

He seems to be in a small, dark cave. The rough stone is cold beneath him, but it's not the worst place he's ever woken up. With the dawn light at the entrance to the cave, he can just make out a patch of moss beside him. He shifts to sit on it, to conserve at least a little warmth. No chance of conjuring a fire, as his wand is gone as well. Perhaps someone thought to retrieve it. If there's anyone left of their little party. If Remus is ever brave enough to return to the castle and find out just how much havoc he wreaked.

He wraps his arms around his knees. The problem is that he allowed himself a foolish moment of optimism. If he hadn't followed his ghosts when they appeared on the map, if he had just stayed in his office and taken his potion, none of this would have happened. He wouldn't have eaten anyone. (God, he hopes he didn't bite anyone.) Severus wouldn't have been able to follow him. No doubt Sirius could have handled Peter on his own. Whether he would have been able to convince Harry and the others of the truth was a different story, however.

The truth. Sirius's story is certainly rather more pleasant to believe than the version Remus has lived with all these years. He wants to believe it. And this, he thinks, is the reason that his mind is now resisting it. It was so easy to take it all on faith in the frantic whirlwind of the previous night. But now, in the cold light of morning, he wonders about it all over again. It's much harder to have hope when alone, naked, and cold.

And then he freezes. He is not alone. There was a distinct rustling sound from the back of the cave. It comes again, with an inhuman murmuring and a click of talons on stone. Remus scrambles backwards, half out of the cave, and the creature follows him. It comes into the light, and he can see that it is... a Hippogriff?

He collects himself enough to bow, his naked arse warmed by the sun, racking his mind wildly to recall if he's ever read anything about Hippogriffs living in caves. But wait – as the Hippogriff bows back to him, Remus thinks it looks familiar. It couldn't be...

Behind him, there's a bark of a laugh, and a voice says, 'Now _there_ is a sight that I have missed.'

He straightens up and turns around so quickly that he nearly falls backwards into the cave, but Sirius catches his hand and grins at him. 'Good morning, Moony.' He's got a set of robes draped over his arm, and he offers them to Remus. 'Thought you might appreciate these.'

Remus takes the robes wordlessly. In a fit of modesty, he traipses off to dress behind a large boulder. The robes are plain, and clean, though the left sleeve is starting to fray and there's a handful of coins in one of the pockets. He doesn't ask where Sirius got the robes. What he does ask, once he returns feeling a bit more like a human, is: 'What happened last night?'

Sirius grimaces. 'How much do you remember?'

That's not a good start. Remus sits down on a rock as he thinks, still feeling shaky and weak. Sirius moves like he's going to join him, hesitates, and flops down on the ground in front of him instead. He's got a shopping bag, from which he produces two bottles of pumpkin juice and passes one to Remus. Remus takes a long draught before he speaks.

'Just tell me, Sirius. Are the kids OK?' He looks away as he says it, unable to face his friend. The pre-emptive guilt is bearing down on him, but he can't hide from it any longer. He needs to know.

Even without looking at him, he can hear the sympathy in Sirius's voice. 'They're OK, Remus. You didn't bite anyone.'

Remus makes a shaky sort of sound and wipes his eyes on the frayed sleeve. When he looks up, Sirius is tactfully looking away to dig through the shopping bag. 'What did happen, then? Where are we? Why is Buckbeak here?' For he is sure, now, that he recognises the Hippogriff. He's also pretty sure that Hagrid's beloved pet had been sentenced to die yesterday afternoon.

Sirius grits his teeth and fills him in on the story. At the end of it, Remus is aghast. 'So nothing is changed,' he says bitterly. 'Peter is free, and you're still on the run. No one believes in your innocence.'

Sirius clears his throat. 'There's only one person I need to believe me.'

'Dumbledore,' says Remus, nodding. 'I'll talk to him, Sirius, he'll come round.'

'Well, no, I meant – does that mean you believe me?' Sirius asks, his voice younger in its earnestness.

Remus considers. It's a difficult thing to change one's mind so quickly. He's spent almost thirteen years believing that the love of his life betrayed him. Old habits die hard. (Of course, it was an easier thing to believe in isolation. He can feel himself weakening under Sirius's pleading gaze.)

But Peter is absolute proof. Remus thinks back, way back, to the dark time towards the end of the war. He had become suspicious of Sirius, in those last days. Suspicious with the strain, the stress, and what he can now recognise as Peter's clumsy attempts to sow discord between the two of them. 

So it was true, then. The Marauders had no longer been big enough and powerful enough for Peter. He had found stronger friends to protect him... and betrayed his old ones as he left them behind.

Remus takes a deep breath. Never in his most desperate dreams had he imagined this moment. Looking directly into the gaunt, nervous face of Sirius Black, Remus says, 'Yes. I believe you.'

Sirius cheers and flops onto his back, stretching out in a supine victory pose. Remus has to smother a laugh as he watches him, half expecting him to start rolling around like a happy dog. Sirius had always been boisterous in personality, and Azkaban seems to have removed any sliver of restraint that may ever have existed. 

When Sirius props himself back up into a sitting position, an awkwardness falls between them. Thirteen years is a long time to fall out of the easy rhythms of a relationship.

'So, Moony... where do we go from here?' Sirius asks eventually.

Remus sighs. 'I'll have to go back to the school. Term may be over, but I am technically still a teacher. Or perhaps not. After last night, I'm sure Severus has found a way to get me the sack.' Sirius practically growls, dog-like, at this. 'At any rate, I've got some things to pack up, and no doubt some questions to answer.'

Nodding slowly, Sirius says, 'No doubt. But I meant – where do we go from here?'

'Ah,' says Remus, understanding. 'Well.'

He looks at Sirius, who looks at him.

'What if – '

'I don't – '

They're both brought up short. Remus waits, but Sirius gestures that he should go first. 'I don't – I don't know,' Remus admits. 'You're wanted by the Ministry, aren't you? Even if they would let you stand trial, which they wouldn't, we don't have any evidence any more. Not now that Peter's gone. You're going to be on the run for the rest of your life.'

Sirius doesn't reply. He watches the shopping bag as he twists it, tighter and tighter.

'But,' Remus continues. 'They don't know about your disguise.'

Sirius discards the shopping bag. 'Exactly. It's been almost a year and they're nowhere near catching me. You'd be all right, Remus, they'd never know you were harbouring a fugitive.'

Remus is brought up short again. He feels like he's missing some context. 'You mean – you'd like to live together?'

Looking almost embarrassed, Sirius says, 'Er – yeah. Did we not do that part of the conversation yet?'

'No,' says Remus, and quickly adds, 'But we can! It's – it's an idea.'

'It's a good idea!' Sirius says in a rush. 'I have money, lots of money, all that family money has just been sitting in Gringotts for years, and nothing would make me happier than spending my mother's money on a half-blood werewolf.'

Remus chuckles despite himself. 'And I suppose a dog can't very well sign a lease.'

'See? We need each other,' Sirius tells him. 'It would – it would be a mutually beneficial arrangement,' he adds awkwardly.

Remus sighs. They're both avoiding the most obvious question. He isn't sure of their relationship status any more, and Sirius seems afraid to ask. They need to talk about it, of course they need to talk about it, but Remus's mind becomes a screaming void as he tries to figure out how to broach _that_ particular topic.

'It would have to be a Muggle flat,' says Remus, sticking to the safer side of the conversation. 'There aren't many wizards who will rent their property to a werewolf.'

'I'll buy you a house if you want it!' Sirius declares, but Remus shakes his head.

'No. I don't want to draw attention, and I don't want to have to explain why I can suddenly afford to buy a house.'

'A flat, then,' Sirius agrees.

They arrange to start looking for a flat after Remus settles his affairs at Hogwarts. The conversation is dispassionate, both of them still conspicuously avoiding the topic of their relationship. For now, for Remus, it's enough to know that he can keep Sirius close. They can work out the other details later.


	7. Chapter 7

Move-in day is largely unremarkable. Remus has few possessions, just a handful of trunks and boxes, already packed after his departure from Hogwarts. Sirius has nothing, not even a wand. The wand is a problem Remus isn't sure how to solve until Dumbledore turns up unexpectedly with a house-warming gift: a long, narrow box for Sirius, and a word to both of them about the future of the Order of the Phoenix. Remus is gutted at the idea of another war. The first one was terrible enough. It's just a whisper at this point, a warning, and he hopes fervently that it will never develop any further.

The landlord has generously provided them with a few bits of worn furniture. That night, Remus and Sirius share a quiet dinner at a shabby wooden table. Sirius swears to replace the furniture with better quality things at the first opportunity. Remus expresses misgivings about Confunding the landlord. ('How else would we have gotten Buckbeak in here?' Sirius asks. 'He really doesn't look like a dog.') But mostly they eat in silence.

Afterwards, restless and agitated, Sirius takes himself for a walk. Remus, book in hand, watches his tail whip out of sight as the door swings closed behind him. When he returns, he joins Remus in the sitting room, settling in a chair across from him, pretending not to watch him. Eventually, Remus closes his book and says, 'Well. Good night.'

'Good night.'

Remus goes into his bedroom, closes his door, lies down on his bed. It doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel at all like it used to. He hears Sirius go padding by, into his own room. Remus sighs heavily. He gets up again and soon finds himself at Sirius's door. Sirius is sitting up in bed, and looks up immediately when Remus appears.

'May I join you?' Remus asks, hesitant.

'Of course!' says Sirius, overeager, moving to make room in the bed.

Remus climbs in next to him, and there's an awkward pause. This used to be so easy. All he should have to do is reach for Sirius, pull him close, follow their own natural rhythms. But he can't remember how it goes any more. It feels as if there is a great chasm between them, impossible to reach across. Or a maze, perhaps, that he no longer feels confident navigating. He's coming up with metaphors as fast as he can, hardly recognising that he's starting to panic.

Sirius raises a hand towards Remus's shoulder, hesitates, and then tucks it behind his own head instead. 'Hey,' he says gently. 'Are you OK?'

Shaking now, Remus says, 'Ye – no – I don't –' Tears start to stream down his face, and he is _mortified_ , but he can't stop them. He turns away, as if he can pretend that he isn't sobbing.

Sirius sighs heavily. 'God, Moony, how did we get here?'

Remus is intimately familiar with loneliness. He's spent more than a decade getting to know almost every flavour of it. And yet he can't remember ever feeling more lonely than he does now, sitting in bed with Sirius, their relationship broken between them. Still crying, Remus says, 'I thought you betrayed us.'

His voice haunted, Sirius says, 'I spent twelve years in Azkaban for that betrayal.'

'Neither of us deserved this,' says Remus. He sniffles and amends, ' _None_ of us deserved this.'

Silence, for a moment. Then Sirius says, 'I thought I was going to die in that place.'

'I waited for death every day.'

Silence again.

Hesitant, careful, unsure of himself, Sirius begins to speak. 'Do you remember the time that – no, hang on. Did you know that I –' He grunts in frustration. 'OK. The – you know, the Dementors – they – they rob you of all your happy thoughts, and memories. My freedom was taken away, my reputation. My life. But that wasn't enough for them. They kept taking and taking. I started to forget all the good times with you. All I had left were our fights... that time in seventh year when we broke up for a while... those months towards the end when I became suspicious of you.

'I was left with very little. And yet, even the bad memories of you had this kind of... this warmth to them. The more I played them out in my head, the more I came to the conclusion that, well – no one could possibly have been such an insufferable nag towards me unless he loved me very much.'

Remus chokes out a laugh through his tears. 'I did love you very much.' He looks at Sirius, puffy eyes and tear-stained face be damned, drinking in the sight of him. 'I _do_ love you. But it's hard, Sirius. This used to be easy. It was always easy. I don't know how to handle it now that it's not.'

Sirius nods slowly. 'Do you remember when I decided to learn how to play the guitar?'

'What? Yes,' Remus says, thrown by the sudden anecdote.

'There wasn't a music shop in Hogsmeade, so we stole down to the Muggle village one weekend and found a guitar in a second-hand shop.'

'That battered old thing,' says Remus. 'I thought you were going to snap it in half whenever you played it.'

'We smuggled it up to the castle,' Sirius continued. 'James was Head Boy that year and kept threatening to turn me in.'

'He never would have, he enjoyed watching you struggle too much for that.'

'I did struggle, at first,' Sirius says. With a meaningful look from Remus, he says, 'All right, I struggled for a long time with it. But I got quite good in the end, didn't I?'

Remus nods. 'Before the Great Guitar Mishap of '79.'

Sirius shakes his head. 'May it rest in peace. But my point, Moony, is that learning to play the guitar was difficult. _Very_ difficult. I worked so hard. Because I knew it was worth it. I knew that I wanted to play the guitar, and so I put in the effort.'

Remus can feel tears welling up again. He pushes them away. 'This is worth it, too,' he says, his voice a whisper.

'I think so,' says Sirius, just as quiet. 'I'm willing to put the effort in. Are – are you?'

It's as if Sirius has given him a map for the distance between them. Remus throws his arms around Sirius. His forehead pressing into Sirius's collarbone, Remus says, 'When did you get so good at this?'

Sirius lets out a bark of a laugh. Remus has always loved the sound of it. 'I had a long time to rehearse conversations with you,' Sirius tells him.

What a heartbreaking thing to say. Remus looks up at him and says, 'May I sleep here tonight?'

'It would be my honour,' Sirius says, and then pulls a face at his own solemnity. 'Sorry. Er – yeah. Of course.'

They break apart to settle down for sleep. Remus finds himself unexpectedly exhausted. Before he can even register how natural this feels, he's asleep.

  


*

  


It's still dark when Remus wakes. The curtains in this new flat are thick and heavy on the window. His only hint at the time is the tiny patch of sunlight where the curtain isn't hanging quite straight. He rises from the bed and stretches, trying not to groan as he discovers how stiff his body is. He pulls the curtain aside to get a better look at the morning, forgetting that he shared a bed last night.

Sirius cries out as if Remus has stabbed him. In their school days, Remus might have laughed or teased or made jokes. Now, he says, 'Oh, Merlin! Sorry about that. I forgot –'

'Ssskay,' Sirius slurs, his head buried beneath a pillow. 'Don't have t'pologise...'

After a moment of indecision, Remus leaves the curtain drawn. He sits back down on the bed, where Sirius peeks up at him from under the pillow. 'Morning.'

'Good morning.' There's a pause, but Remus is determined to prevent it from becoming awkward. 'If I make you breakfast, will you forgive me for the rude awakening?'

Remus catches just a glimpse of a smile before Sirius takes cover underneath the pillow again. 'Abfrr-utely.'

In the kitchen, Remus throws a few kippers to Buckbeak, who snaps them up eagerly. He lays the remaining two in a pan for frying. They're nearly done when he feels a pair of warm arms slide around his waist and a heavy weight lean into his back.

'I thought you were going to keep sleeping?' Remus asks.

He can feel Sirius's face twitch against his shoulder. 'I wasn't really sleeping. I was just comfortable.'

Remus turns around, concerned. 'Did you sleep at all?'

Sirius waves an awkward hand. 'Don't worry about it, Moony. It's just a – a habit that I've fallen out of.'

'Sleeping?'

Sirius grimaces. 'Yeah.'

Unsure of what to say, Remus turns back to the sizzling kippers, prodding them to keep them from burning. Eventually, he asks, 'Is breakfast a lost habit too?'

'Honestly? Yeah,' Sirius admits. 'But it's one I'm looking forward to picking back up. Do we have eggs, too?'

And so their lives fall into a rhythm that could be called normal. They order furniture from a catalogue, along with sheets and towels and cutlery. Sirius surprises Remus with a boxful of books that have to sit on the floor for a week until the bookshelves arrive. Remus does the weekly shopping while Sirius slowly relearns how to cook. Once a month they Apparate together to lonely patches of wilderness to accommodate the curse.

One sunny afternoon, Sirius plucks Remus's book from his hands and sits down in his lap. Remus wraps his arms around him, drawing him closer, and as their lips meet it feels so damn good. They end up rolling onto the floor and making love in the sitting room like unsupervised teenagers. ('This was lovely and all,' Remus says afterwards, massaging his knees, 'But next time, can we please use the bed?')

Still. Some days Sirius feels so caged by the small flat that he transforms almost instinctively and flees, not returning for hours or, once, days. Some nights Remus is torn from sleep by his old nightmares, gasping and crying in the dark.

But when Sirius reappears, he knows that he will return to the warm and solid presence of Remus Lupin. When Remus wakes, he knows that Sirius will be there to ground him in reality and in the present, even if he's dead to the world and snoring.

Things aren't OK yet, but they will be. One day. It's only a matter of time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it :D
> 
> Need a little fluff after all that angst? Check out [I Hope You Don't Mind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18303854), which was originally written as the epilogue to this fic
> 
> And finally, thanks again to my hard-working, incredible beta readers, [Apfelessig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apfelessig) and Ciera. I love you guys


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